


you say you think we are the best thing

by zenstrike



Series: you’re lucky that’s what i like [26]
Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Anxiety, Couch Cuddles, Lovey-Dovey, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-20
Updated: 2019-01-20
Packaged: 2019-10-13 11:51:53
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,582
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17487551
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zenstrike/pseuds/zenstrike
Summary: A restless Lance and a loving Keith.





	you say you think we are the best thing

**Author's Note:**

> For anonymous from the prompt: “What are you doing up? Come to bed.”
> 
> me, feeling soft: sigh

He woke confused and certain that the bed was too big.

Keith spread his arms over the rumpled sheets, frowning at the ceiling and feeling both cold and comfortable. His dream still felt real, like if he closed his eyes now he’d slip back into it easily and forget he’d ever been awake.

He sat up.

Red squeaked and resumed eating. A car, maybe a bus, roared by on the street below.

Keith rolled his way out of the bed, shoving their blankets into a disgruntled pile. He stretched. He scratched his chin. He eyed the closed bedroom door.

“How long has he been up?” Keith said to Red.

Red continued munching.

He tugged a sweater from the top of their dresser and tried to trick himself into thinking it smelled and felt like Lance, like that would be enough for him to crawl back into bed and drag the blankets over his head and go back to his dream of Lance smiling and safe between Keith and the wall in their old room—

He found Lance in their living room, nested on the couch and hugging his knees and staring right back at Keith with his eyes wide and his phone abandoned next to him.

“Lance,” Keith said. Or sighed.

“You’re dreaming,” Lance said. Or yelled. Maybe squawked. “This is all a dream! Go back to bed!”

Keith decided to ignore that.

“What are you doing up?” He shuffled to the couch and Lance shifted to make room for him among the blankets and pillows he’d collected.

“Nothing,” Lance mumbled and tossed his blanket around Keith’s shoulders.

They leaned against each other. One of Lance’s hands found Keith’s under the blanket and they held on tight, fingers twisting together. Keith could feel Lance deflate next to him, like a slow breath before he fell asleep.

“Then come back to bed.”

“Okay,” Lance said.

They didn’t move.

The apartment was quiet, though Keith thought he could hear something humming. Lance had turned on one of their corner lamps and it cast dim, orange light that barely reached them.

“I was dreaming about you,” Keith said.

“Horndog.”

“We could rearrange the bedroom.”

“What?” Lance shifted. He squeezed Keith’s hand, huffed, and then settled more solidly against Keith.

(Sometimes Keith was sure he could do it—he could be someone worth leaning on. Lance made him want to be steady. Lance made him want to be reliable. Lance made him want to build a safe place for them both.

Sometimes he could sit still.

For Lance.)

“We could shove the bed over,” Keith said. “Move the dresser. We’d be a little more under the window and you could smush yourself against the wall.”

Lance was quiet for a moment, and then: “Smush.”

“That’s what I said.”

“You’re trying to trap me,” Lance said, sounding a little more pleased than seemed entirely—appropriate. “You’re going to smush me against the wall so I can’t sneak out.”

“Yeah.”

Lance laughed, bright and a little loud. Something warm and affectionate danced along Keith’s spine and he hid his smile in Lance’s hair.

“You’re so weird.”

“Maybe,” Keith mumbled.

“You know,” Lance said. “I’ve gone most of this week without sneaking out of bed.”

“It’s Wednesday.”

“Small victories, Keith. Small victories.”

“Microscopic victories.”

“You’re _hilarious_.”

“I’m serious,” Keith said. “About the bedroom.”

“I know.”

“And?”

“And what?”

(And Keith had dreamy memories of Lance dozing against him, cozy between Keith and the wall of their old room. He looked so settled, in those memories. It used to keep Keith up at night: the quiet sound of Lance’s breaths and the soft mumbles of his dreams and the warmth of his body.

Keith had dreamy memories of brushing his fingers through Lance’s hair while he slept.

Keith had dreamy memories of Lance sleeping next to him, and maybe that was all he wanted from the world.)

He shifted, his nose scrunching at the tickle and tease of Lance’s hair. “I’ll just wait,” Keith said with a sniff. “Move things around when you’re out for the day.”

“Why are you like this?”

“Like what?”

“I guess it wouldn’t be so bad,” Lance said, a little loftily, instead of answering. “The wall’s kind of nice.”

“You’ll find a way to climb over me, I guess.”

“Eventually.”

Lance pulled away, untangling their hands and leaving Keith a little cold. A little sad.

He stood and Keith watched him stretch, watched the roll of his shoulders, studied the glimpse of Lance’s back.

Keith leaned his elbows on his knees and looked up at Lance, the blanket sliding to settle in a lump against the back of the couch.

(Maybe if he could stay awake—maybe he could watch over Lance, smooth the restlessness from his skin and chase away his sleepless nights. Maybe Keith could do that. Maybe he could be that.)

“I was thinking about the wedding,” Lance said then, and Keith’s shock felt like slipping on a patch of ice, felt like waking suddenly from a dream, felt like—

It felt like the first time Lance had kissed him, had leaned in and proved to Keith that it—them—wasn’t just a compelling daydream.

“Oh,” Keith said.

“Yeah.” Lance turned partway, his arms crossed and his toes wiggling. “Well. I was thinking about you meeting everyone, I guess.”

“Oh.”

“I think I’m nervous.”

Keith considered this. Lance rocked on his feet. “Okay,” Keith said.

And like that was permission, Lance dropped back to the couch, hunched and frowning at his knees and squeezing his arms so tight against himself he seemed ready to bend.

“What if you don’t like them?” Lance muttered. “What if you _really_ don’t like them? What if you hate Marco? Or my mom?”

“What if I hate _your mom_?”

“I mean—yeah!”

“I don’t think that’s going to happen.”

“It could. You could hate my mom and then what? I’d probably have to fight you.” Lance paused. “But after that.”

Keith leaned back, smoothing his hands over his sweats and blinking at Lance’s back. He imagined he could hear Lance’s thoughts running wild: _what if, what if, what if_.

Had Keith worried in the weeks leading up to Lance meeting Shiro? Meeting Adam? He must have. There was the obvious terror that Adam was going to say something weird and scare off Lance. Or that Shiro and Lance, who were admittedly two of the most pleasant people Keith could think of, would immediately clash. But had he been _worried_? So many things had happened, had been happening. And he had been—

Impatient. Desperate to see Lance. Scared that Shiro was going to lose Adam and Adam was going to lose Shiro.

Afraid that Shiro wouldn’t approve.

Keith sucked in a long breath.

“Lance,” he said. “It’s okay.”

“I know,” Lance sighed. “ _I know_. I’m just—whatever.”

Keith tilted his head. “I’m going to do my best to make sure your mom doesn’t hate me, Lance.”

Lance froze, and then slowly straightened. Keith heard him breathe: in, and out; in and out; and then Lance twisted to look back at him.

“I’m nervous, too,” Keith said. “I want them to like me, too.”

“That’s not what I said,” Lance said, sounding a little strangled.

“It’s okay.” Keith drummed his fingers against his thighs. “I’m quiet and moody and have bad hair—”

“I like your hair,” Lance said, sounding so quiet and earnest Keith wanted to laugh.

“I know,” he replied, smiling.

“I don’t want you to be nervous,” Lance mumbled.

“Thanks.”

“I’m serious.”

“I know.” Keith spread his arms, feeling both warm and foolish. “Come here.”

Lance eyed him.

“Lance,” Keith said. “Just come here.”

Some of the tension left Lance’s shoulders. “You have practice in the morning.”

“Yeah.”

Lance shook his head, but he fell into Keith’s arms easily.

Easy, like breathing. Like running. It felt like they knew each other, now. Or—like they had grown together and could fit quickly against each other with Lance’s hands in Keith’s sweater and Keith’s arms tight around Lance.

“We should go to bed,” Lance said, his breath warm against Keith’s neck and his head heavy against Keith’s shoulder.

“Maybe.”

“I’m tired.”

“I know.”

Lance sighed and deflated a little bit more and Keith’s heart swelled and seemed to float into his throat. “I feel a little better,” he said, quiet and soft.

“Good.”

“Tell me about your dream.”

“I was dreaming about you.”

“Good. What else?”

“It’s a secret.”

Lance huffed. “Horndog.”

They stayed like that, breathing together.

 

***

 

(“It’s late,” Lance whispered when they finally shuffled into the bedroom, holding tight to each other. Keith nudged the door shut behind them. “ _God_ , why am I _like this_ —”

“Forget about time,” Keith muttered, tugging Lance to the bed.

“What?” Lance said, laughing quietly.

“Don’t look at the clock.”

“Too late.”

“It’s just us,” Keith said, pulling Lance down with him. “And just right now.”

“I don’t know what that means.”

“It means whatever you want it to mean.”

Lance eyed him while they rescued the blankets from the lump at the end of the bed, while they settled back together, while they looked at each other and listened to Red run on her wheel.

“I like sleeping with you,” he said finally, shuffling impossibly closer.

Keith smiled.)

 

***

 

(Keith slipped back to his dream, back to Lance warm in his arms and kissing him softly.

And he smiled in his sleep and Lance whispered “I love you” against his lips.)

**Author's Note:**

> my partner’s away and i miss him very much.
> 
> the title comes from vcr by the xx


End file.
